


I Want Lights

by NightCur



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:22:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1355569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightCur/pseuds/NightCur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And as I sit here, crouched on a beam above the blazing city lights and constant chatter of a city that never sleeps, I finally realised what I missed.</p><p>I miss the lights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want Lights

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a fanmix titled by the same name by tiffir on Tumblr http://taffir.tumblr.com/post/80400020880
> 
> Totally just getting over Desmond feels here. Okay, so scrap that, because it'll never happen.

With the mess and outright confusion of being captured and used against my will, there was hardly any time to reflect on what I missed, on what was outside of all of this. There was just survive, escape, get away.

After Lucy busted me out and we wound up in the warehouse, survive, escape, get away turned to learn, think, act. I already knew some of the skills taught to me by my long-dead ancestors, but 'muscle-memory' took over, suddenly everything I saw through Ezio and Altair's eyes I could do too.

It felt amazing. It felt... empowering.

When the warehouse was discovered and our little 'cell' moved to the Villa, I was astonished. The familiar façade hit me like a brick and I just had to stand there for a little bit, had to look down at my hands and be relieved to see _my_ hidden blade and _my_ hands. Not Ezio's.

Not Altair's.

Mine.

Through all of this, my life ran with a purpose, a common goal, something to work towards. I didn't really have time to think about a lot of other stuff. But when I did, I found that I often over-thought things and fell into self-pity. The whole 'why me?' thought was popular.

I guess it had to someone, right?

When I fell into the Blackroom, everything just turned to get out, find out how to get out.

Clay helped me. I was a little unsure at first, I mean, the guy had gone off the rails and put a new coat of paint on the walls. And the floor. With his own blood.  
But in the end, he saved me. Helped me find my way through the mess of memories that were Altair, Ezio and me.

I was a bit of mess coming away from that. The guilt of Lucy's murder, but that tiny streak of satisfaction behind it. Knowing the truth behind it helped a bit, I guess. But it weighed so heavily, I admit I found a corner in a spare moment and curled in on myself, over-thinking... and all that.

The odd sense of relief, but also affliction when I saw William, Dad, again. Suddenly he just shows up. 

All it took was to die a little.

The temple gave me time to finally reflect. Finally time to bring to light my questions. Finally able to see where I fit into this endlessly-complicated puzzle of things this world has dished out.

 

And as I sit here, crouched on a beam above the blazing city lights and constant chatter of a city that never sleeps, I finally realised what I missed.

I miss the lights.

I miss the action.

I miss the bass drum, the thump, thump, thump, that constant in the background. The gentle scent of liqueur that hangs in the air of the alleys and the streets in front of the club strips. The rush of getting through another day of being free, how ever shitty that day had been.

I only realise I've sat there for too long when Shaun gets all snarky in my ear, asking if I'm suddenly afraid of heights. I tell him something just as scathing and continue, climbing higher above the neon city I used to know so well. Still do.


End file.
